


Terms & Conditions

by cygnes



Category: Ex Machina (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 50 Shades of Grey Fusion, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 12:10:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7314679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cygnes/pseuds/cygnes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caleb Smith is hired as Nathan Bateman's personal assistant. The job requirements aren't quite what he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Terms & Conditions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skazka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skazka/gifts).



> Originally posted [here](http://manzanas-amargas.tumblr.com/post/139732929330/and-you-know-what-its-valentines-day-and-im) on my tumblr (way back in February) for the prompt "EX MACHINA 50 SHADES OF GREY AU" from the wonderful [skazka](http://archiveofourown.org/users/skazka/pseuds/skazka). I referred to this fic as "50 Shades of NDA" for so long that I had some trouble coming up with a real title.
> 
> A preliminary warning: everything I know about _Fifty Shades of Grey_ is what I've gleaned from the summary on Wikipedia and from other people complaining about it.
> 
> (Actual full content warnings can be found in the endnote.)

> Email from Kyoko Hamada to Ava Lundqvist

Nathan is interviewing for personal assistants again. I think he’s trying to get them to sign the contract first.

> Email from Ava Lundqvist to Kyoko Hamada

He’s going to have to learn to schedule his own meetings.

* * *

Caleb Smith is both overqualified for the position and not qualified at all. He has the right education to be more than an administrative assistant; he has no actual experience in administratively assisting in any capacity. He shouldn’t have to apply to this kind of job at all, and whoever is in charge of HR definitely shouldn’t have given him an interview for it.

And yet: here he is. 

Wearing the better of his two suits (inexpertly pressed), carrying a hard copy of the CV he sent in with his application. The elevator doors open into a terrifyingly blank space. Floor-to-ceiling windows, polished granite. No carpet, no potted plants. He sees only one desk, straight ahead. It looks more like a modern art gallery than an office.

“I’m here for the 11:15 appointment,” Caleb says to the woman behind the desk. 

“Smith?” the woman says. She is stunningly attractive and clearly very unimpressed with him.

“Caleb Smith,” he confirms. “Yeah.”

“It’s 10:45,” she says. 

“I wasn’t sure about the buses,” Caleb says. “Better early than late.”

“You’ll have to wait,” the woman says. Caleb glances around again, looking for furniture he might have missed. There is a slab of rock protruding from the wall between the two elevator doors. It’s difficult to tell whether it’s meant to be a bench, or just there for design purposes. 

“Can I sit?” Caleb says. 

“Go for it,” the woman says. Her attention is already back on the desktop in front of her. Caleb spends the next twenty minutes alternating between fiddling with his phone and staring out the enormous windows. They’re high up enough that he can almost see water from here: just the glimmer of it, distant. 

At 11:05, the woman at the desk tells him he can go through. ‘Going through’ turns out to mean taking the other elevator. There are no buttons on the inside. It’s all a little more opaque than he expected, but the preliminary phone interviews hadn’t been specific about who in the company he’d be assisting. For all he knows, he might be meeting with one of Bluebook’s senior vice presidents. 

It turns out to be worse than that. He knows as soon as he steps off the elevator and sees that _the entire floor_ has apparently been converted into office space for one person. It’s up high, too—near the top of the building, if not at the very top. He can tell because the water isn’t just the faint shine he saw before, defined more by the absence of buildings than the presence of anything else. No, he can see the shape of part of the shoreline from up here. 

Caleb’s first thought is _someone made a huge mistake_. His second thought is _that someone was probably me_. His third thought is less a thought than it is a sense of panicked urgency, and the sense that he should leave before anyone catches him here.

“Caleb Smith,” a voice says. Caleb turns to face the person addressing him and his mind goes utterly blank. Nathan Bateman, founder and CEO of Bluebook, is standing a couple of yards away. Nathan Bateman knows his name. “Right? We have a meeting.”

“In ten minutes,” Caleb says. “Technically.” His mind catches up with his mouth only after he’s said this. He fights his impulse to cringe. 

“Well,” Nathan says, “we’re both here now. Might as well get the ball rolling.” He crosses the distance between them and Caleb notices what he’s wearing. Or what he isn’t wearing. Nathan is barefoot, dressed in a white t-shirt and gray sweatpants. They shake hands. Nathan holds on a little too long, then pushes back the too-short cuffs of Caleb’s shirt and suit jacket, pulling him forward. “Christ, look at this skinny little wrist,” Nathan says. He seems amused. 

Caleb doesn’t say anything. The best way to deal with derision is to let it slide over him without resistance. People lose interest in his faults more quickly if he doesn’t try to defend himself or contradict them. Nathan lets him go, and turns away. As if he hadn’t done anything strange. 

“Before we get down to business, there’s some paperwork to get out of the way,” Nathan says. He taps a manila folder on a nearby workbench. 

Caleb opens the folder and starts to skim the document. Then he stops, goes back to the beginning, and starts to read in earnest. “A non-disclosure agreement?”

“Standard stuff,” Nathan says. 

“It doesn’t look very standard,” Caleb says. 

“Okay, it’s not standard. But you’re in a very unique position. Not to blow my own horn, here, but I’m a big deal, and even if you don’t end up as my assistant, you might see or hear some sensitive stuff.” Nathan stands next to him, very close by, leaning against the workbench. “Cloak and dagger shit, in the world of corporate espionage. I’ve got to protect my interests.” 

“This just seems—” Caleb pauses, rereads the words ‘unlimited data audit.’ “Overly cautious, I guess.”

“No such thing,” Nathan says. “So. You want to call a lawyer to read it out loud to you, or can we get on with this?” Caleb signs the agreement. He looks over at Nathan, who smiles conspiratorially. “Good choice, man.” 

“What happens now?” Caleb says. 

“Now we talk about the terms of employment,” Nathan says. 

“Just like that? I mean, you don’t want to interview me?” Caleb says. 

“Caleb, let’s get something straight here,” Nathan says. “You don’t correct me. You don’t correct me, and you don’t question my methods.” His tone has lost its friendliness. He is brisk, almost impatient. 

“Sorry,” Caleb says.

“You know, I believe you mean that,” Nathan says. “And to answer your question: no, I don’t want to interview you. I don’t _need_ to interview you. You wouldn’t be meeting with me in person if you hadn’t been thoroughly researched and vetted.”

“That makes sense,” Caleb says. “I guess I was just concerned, given my lack of experience with this kind of job.”

“I like your experience,” Nathan says. “I like that I’ll be able to bounce ideas off of you and you’ll know what the hell I’m talking about. I’d rather have a trained programmer than a trained secretary.” Caleb nods as though he understands Nathan’s reasoning. He doesn’t, not entirely, but he’s not going to sabotage himself any more than he already has. “You’ll be on a sixty-day trial period before you’re permanent staff, but benefits will start immediately. So if you’ve been holding off on making any doctor’s appointments until you had real insurance, go ahead. And you’re going to have to submit a blood sample.”

“Okay,” Caleb says. He wonders if he should be taking notes, but decides against it. Nathan wants his undivided attention.

“The job posting outlined your duties pretty specifically, but it’s simpler than that. You facilitate me doing my job. That’s it,” Nathan says. 

“This is going to sound—” Caleb starts, and then stops himself. “I know who you are, obviously, and I know what you’ve done, but on a day-to-day basis—”

This time Nathan interrupts. “Meetings with project managers and regional heads, conferences, personal research and development. You can handle it.”

“I appreciate your faith in me,” Caleb says. Nathan smiles again. It’s less conspiratorial and more smug. Caleb feels that a joke is being made at his expense. 

“There’s another condition to the job,” Nathan says. He produces another manila folder from under the tabletop and slides it over to Caleb. Caleb reads half of the first page. 

“Is this a joke?” Caleb says. 

“Are you questioning my methods?” Nathan returns evenly. Caleb shakes his head and goes back to reading. It’s all laid out very neatly in clauses and appendices. “You have a week to get settled into the job and think it over.”

“What makes you think I’ll agree?” Caleb says. 

“Your college debt. Your medical history. Your job history, which is comprised entirely of freelance work for the past two years. The fact that you can barely cover your half of rent on a truly shitty shared apartment. I did my fucking research, Caleb,” Nathan says. 

“Right,” Caleb says. He can’t think of an appropriate response.

“You start tomorrow, 7:30 sharp. Take the rest of today and get some clothes that fit you,” Nathan says. “Clothes from somewhere other than a discount store. I’ll send some suggestions.” He’s bizarrely self-righteous about it for a man dressed like he should be at the gym. 

Caleb takes the elevator down. On the bus ride back to his shitty apartment, he puts his head between his knees and is mostly successful at not hyperventilating in public.

* * *

Nathan’s new assistant is, somewhat shockingly, male. Kyoko had previously been sure that he had a definite type (small, brown-eyed women), and Caleb doesn’t fit the criteria. Better for him, she thinks. A bullet dodged. 

He’s quiet and undemanding and barely spares her a glance when he comes in every morning. She resents him for it, just a little. She doesn’t resent him more because he’s probably just too distracted to add her to the very long list of things he has to remember. Ava was like that, too, at first. It took her a week and a half to ask Kyoko’s name, and then she had to ask twice again after that because she’d forgotten. It took them two months to have a real conversation. Kyoko suspects it will take Caleb even longer, if he’s left to his own devices.

It’s immediately clear Caleb doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing or what the hell he’s gotten himself into. The learning curve is steep. By the end of his first week, he looks exhausted. He almost drops his phone as he steps out of the elevator at 7:17. Kyoko takes pity on him.

“What time are you taking lunch today?” she says. His head snaps up to look at her, as though he’s only now waking up. 

“Oh, uh. 1:30, I think? There should be a two hour break between meetings then.” He doesn’t seem to understand why she’s asking. 

“Meet me in the ground floor lobby, west entrance,” she says. “We can commiserate.” He smiles in response. It is a meek expression, but his fatigue makes it bitter. 

Kyoko passes the morning in furious correspondence. She does not speak a word aloud for three hours at a stretch, and even then, it’s only to curse under her breath. Her job had become much more difficult since she gave Nathan reason to be wary of her. He had responded by making her do all the same work remotely, from one damn standard terminal, and added the responsibilities of a receptionist on top of the development she was supposed to be overseeing. 

If he hoped to place her in the line of fire, he’d be disappointed. She wasn’t going to defend him to (or from) anyone.

Caleb is yet more subdued when he meets her for lunch. “Caffeine,” she says. “Tea or coffee?”

“Coffee,” he responds automatically, with sudden vehemence. That intensity doesn’t last long. “Or—no. I can’t have coffee.” Kyoko doesn’t ask. She takes him for tea and sandwiches. He orders an herbal tea, completely defeating the point. She doesn’t ask about that, either. Other people’s dietary restrictions are none of her business. 

“How are you settling in?” Kyoko says. 

“It’s not what I expected,” Caleb says. “But I can’t talk about it.”

“I signed an NDA, too,” Kyoko says. 

“I guess it really is standard,” Caleb says. 

“At a certain level,” Kyoko says. “To a certain extent.” 

“Does that—do they cancel each other out? Since we both signed them, can we talk to each other?” He sounds so hopeful. He’s not stupid; he must understand that the answer will be no. There are certain things she talks about with Ava only because they fall in a gray area. They have particular kind of shared experience that no one would prosecute them for talking about privately because no one at Bluebook would want it brought to light.

“We can talk about things that aren’t work-related,” Kyoko says. “We can talk about how obnoxious Nathan is, as long as we don’t get too specific about his comments or their context. Or we can talk about ourselves.” Kyoko doesn’t really want to hear Caleb’s life story. She doesn’t think he needs to know hers. But she needs to break the ice somehow.

“There’s not much to tell,” Caleb says, and Kyoko thinks he’s taken the bait. He doesn’t elaborate, though. He drinks his chamomile tea and picks at his sandwich. Kyoko methodically consumes half of her own sandwich in small bites before making another attempt.

“Is something bothering you?” Kyoko says. 

“It’s work-related,” Caleb says. “Sort of. I’m not sure where the boundary is.”

“He’s an invasive creep,” Kyoko says. Ava has used this exact term to describe Nathan multiple times. “Is it the dress code?”

“What?” Caleb says. 

“The dress code for me and for his previous female assistants is absurd. No skirts below the knee, no heels under two inches.”

“That’s _terrible_ ,” Caleb says. His sincerity is mildly endearing. “He just told me to get better clothes.”

“You have looked more put together in the past few days than you did when you came for the interview,” Kyoko says. She doesn’t want to validate Nathan, necessarily, but it’s true. Caleb is no longer rumpled and his clothes are no longer creased. The lines of his clothes are smooth and sharp. Like Kyoko herself, he is adapting to match the decor. “My theory is that we have to look good to distract from the fact that Nathan looks like a serial killer.”

“The magician’s hot assistant,” Caleb says. “Misdirection.”

“His net worth is also higher than the GDP of some countries,” Kyoko says. “Which might have something to do with it.” Caleb smiles. His expression is still guarded, even now, on the edge of laughter. There are any number of things that could be ‘work-related, sort of’ that he would hesitate to discuss. Her suspicions are colored by the offer Nathan once made her, before she threatened to quit (and then some). By the similar offer he made Ava, who _did_ quit. 

It’s probably paranoia, Kyoko tells herself. Later, though, she thinks: _it’s not paranoia if I’m right_.

* * *

> excerpt from an email from Ava Lundqvist to Kyoko Hamada

Update me on the new assistant. How’s Nathan dealing with spending so much time with someone he doesn’t want to fuck? It must be hard for him.

> excerpt from an email from Kyoko Hamada to Ava Lundqvist

Caleb is very boring but not terrible. I’m concerned that I might have been wrong, though. I think he signed the contract after all. Nathan is whisking him away to the estate for ‘orientation’ next week. 

For all his talk about rigidly defined sexuality, I don’t think Nathan is going to let that get in the way.

> excerpt from an email from Ava Lundqvist to Kyoko Hamada

The main thing that gets Nathan off is control. Let me know when they get back, if you’re sure one way or the other.

* * *

In the car ride from the airport to the private helicopter pad, Nathan takes Caleb’s personal phone and his work phone. 

“No outside contact until we’re back on U.S. soil,” Nathan says. “I don’t want you getting distracted.” 

“What if someone needs to contact you?” Caleb says. 

“Then they can contact _me_. You’ve had a test drive on the professional side of things. Now we’re going to try out the personal side of things. Once I know you can handle them separately, you’ll be responsible for both. But let’s not rush into it.” Nathan puts his arm around Caleb’s shoulders. It might be intended as reassurance, but mostly feels ridiculous. It’s a high school date move. 

They don’t talk on the helicopter ride because it isn’t practical. It’s too loud. Caleb tries to enjoy the view but it’s difficult to concentrate on mountains and icebergs with Nathan’s leg pressed next to his. Nathan’s hand, resting just above his knee. 

They are left in a field and Caleb is obliged to follow Nathan into the woods. He can’t keep up with Nathan’s pace, and wonders if this was calculated to make him aware of his physical inferiority. All those little things Nathan had catalogued over their brief time together: narrow shoulders, delicate wrists, lack of muscle. Nathan opens the front door with a keycard. Caleb doesn’t get one. 

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Nathan says once they’re inside, as though continuing a conversation instead of starting a new one. “Your blood panel came back clean, so that’s one less thing to worry about.” 

Caleb stops where he stands. He knows, has known, what was going to happen here. But it’s suddenly too real. “I guess it doesn’t matter that I’m straight,” he says. 

“No,” Nathan says. “Not really. You can be conditioned to find pleasure in other things.” 

Caleb asks where he should put his bag, and Nathan takes it. Caleb is told to sit and wait, which he does. The house is not unlike the office in its minimalism. Glass and straight lines, with occasional organic touches to bring them into starker relief. 

Nathan comes back in and sits across from him.

“Here’s how things are going to go while we’re here,” Nathan says. “It should be easy for you. I give you instructions, you follow them. If you need something, you ask me for it. You don’t go wandering off to get anything for yourself.”

“Okay,” Caleb says. 

Nathan sighs, put-upon, and continues. “Except to communicate your needs, you don’t speak unless directly addressed or given permission. You don’t initiate physical contact with me unless given permission.” Caleb only nods this time. “Good.” Nathan stands and puts his hands on his hips, looking down at him. “First order of business: Jacket off, shoes off, socks off.” 

Caleb complies. His hands are shaking already. He looks up at Nathan, hesitant. Not knowing what else to do, he raises his hand. Nathan laughs.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“Should I leave them here?” Caleb says.

“Don’t worry about it,” Nathan says. “Follow me.” 

Nathan takes him to an elevator and they go down. It requires a keycard, Caleb notices. He won’t be able to come back above ground without Nathan. The downstairs hallway is concrete and glass. Nathan opens a door: with the keycard, again. Caleb has not stopped shaking. 

“Shirt off, pants off,” Nathan says. “You can leave your underwear on.” Caleb complies. Nathan picks up his clothes and goes to leave the room. “You need to go to the bathroom, do it now,” he calls back over his shoulder. Caleb follows instructions, and then—he disobeys. He opens the medicine cabinet. There are a lot of first aid supplies. He feels lightheaded. He shuts the cabinet at looks at his reflection. 

There is nothing attractive about him. Too pale in some places, too flushed in others. Skinny. Frightened. 

Nathan knocks on the bathroom door. “You okay in there?”

“Yes,” Caleb says, unconvincingly. He splashes some cold water on his face and goes back to the bedroom. Nathan is waiting. There are several coils of nylon rope on the bed, along with what looks like one of those sleep masks that they sell in airports. Nathan has a hand towel wrapped loosely around one fist.

“On the bed,” Nathan says. “Come on.”

_This is really happening_ , Caleb thinks. He can’t make himself take another step forward. Nathan takes him by the arm and forces him to lie down. Gently, gently. Caleb doesn’t resist but he doesn’t help. Nathan pushes one knee up toward his chest. The nylon rope is looped around his ankle and his thigh and tied off. This action is repeated on his other leg. Then his wrists: bound to the rope around his legs. His range of motion is limited to how much his legs fall open. Caleb keeps his knees primly together. The towel goes in his mouth, secured there with another rope between his teeth. Then the sleep mask—a blindfold, more properly. 

It takes Caleb a while to realize that Nathan has left the room. He keeps waiting to feel a hand come down on his exposed skin, but it doesn’t happen. He makes a sound: a wordless question that might warrant punishment. There is no response. 

He is relieved, for a few minutes. He lets himself relax a little. But that makes it worse. Relaxing does not ease the tension in his muscles very much, nor does it lessen the growing ache in his joints. He swallows with difficulty. The next few minutes are spent fighting panic. He could choke on his own saliva and Nathan wouldn’t know, wouldn’t help him. He makes a lot of little pleading noises even though there is no one to hear them.

The panic passes, too. Caleb keeps himself occupied by counting. At a certain point, the number gets too high, and he goes back a little, sure he must have sped up. He does this more than once.

When the bedroom door opens again, Caleb has lost all sense of time. His estimation can’t possibly be right. Nathan wouldn’t have left him alone for over three hours. 

The blindfold comes off first. Then the ropes. Caleb claws weakly at the gag with half-numbed hands.

“Hey, shhh, I’ve got you,” Nathan says. He removes the gag and Caleb curls up on his side with a sob of relief. Nathan cards a hand through his hair. Looking past Nathan to the bedside table, Caleb can see the red LED numbers on the clock.

It’s been closer to five hours.

By comparison, it doesn’t seem so bad the first time Nathan fucks him. Sex falls more within the realm of the familiar, even if he hasn’t done exactly this before. Even if Nathan very insistently holds him down. It’s uncomfortable but not painful. He isn’t oppressed by the constant fear of suffocation. 

The second time is harder than the first. Nathan binds his wrists to the headboard with zip ties beforehand, and blindfolds him again, both of which make him nervous. But being bound and blindfolded and fucked is still not as bad as being bound and blindfolded and gagged and left alone. If anything goes wrong, he can tell Nathan. Nathan will be there. Nothing about the encounter is gentle but he isn’t afraid until afterward, when Nathan moves away from him. Without any point of contact he feels suddenly unmoored. 

“Please,” he says. He doesn’t know what he’s asking for. Nathan cuts the ties around his wrists and Caleb immediately goes to take off the blindfold. Nathan catches his hands and presses them back above his head, wrists crossed. 

“Not yet,” Nathan says. “Leave it on. Stay where you are.” The next few minutes are excruciating in their uncertainty. Nathan fingers him open again and Caleb trembles, trying to hold still. At a certain point Nathan is either satisfied or bored. He removes the blindfold and draws back. Caleb gasps with the suddenness of the relief he feels. 

The third time, Nathan chokes him, and Caleb genuinely thinks he’s going to die. As a result, he struggles too hard, or perhaps just too sincerely. Nathan hurts him. 

Caleb stops thinking about his actions in terms of whether they will do him any good and starts thinking in terms of how Nathan will react. If he breaks down and Nathan sees, will it make Nathan angry? Will it excite him? Despite his very ominous mention of conditioning, he seems not to have much interest in Caleb’s pleasure. He doesn’t care what Caleb likes. 

Caleb is starting to get an idea of what Nathan likes, though. Nathan likes servitude and servility. Nathan likes bondage and sensory deprivation and asphyxiation. Nathan likes to come inside him, most of the time, but occasionally on his face – probably because Caleb was so obviously, visibly mortified by it the first time. Nathan likes to remind him that he chose this.

For his part, Caleb likes to remind himself that he hasn’t seen a doctor in almost four years despite the fact that he’s supposed to see an orthopedic specialist every six months. He has an appointment booked in two weeks, and he’s going to start seeing a physical therapist again. He’s been in touch with a realtor to look at apartments.

He reminds himself (again and again) that he agreed to this, that the term of the contract is only a year, that he can grit his teeth and bear it for at least that long.

* * *

Nathan and Caleb are gone for a week and a half. Nathan checks in with the appropriate project managers, attends meetings remotely. Works as usual except without being physically present to leer at the staff. Caleb is nowhere to be seen, but then, he wouldn’t be. He wouldn’t have to be on camera to take notes. Or maybe he’s working on organizing Nathan’s latest flash of brilliance—Nathan has a tendency to write everything on sticky notes that make no sense out of their proper order and context. That would be enough to keep Caleb busy, if Nathan was in a productive mood.

Kyoko tries emailing him and gets an automated response. It states the date of his departure and return and not much else. She emails Nathan and gets an actual written response within a half hour. 

The details don’t paint an incriminating picture on their own, but she knows Nathan enough to be worried. 

When they get back, Caleb is more than just subdued. Something about him seems hollowed-out. He doesn’t ignore her, like he had at first: he avoids her. He responds as briefly as possible when she addresses him and turns down her offers of getting lunch together. Again, there could be any number of reasons for this. There’s just one possibility that bothers her. She wants to be proven wrong.

She gets closer to a definitive answer the first morning Caleb comes in late. It’s 7:43 when the elevator door opens. Caleb looks like hell. The top button of his shirt is undone, which he doesn’t seem to notice. Kyoko only notices because of the faint yellow-green of fading bruises in the hollow of his throat. 

“Christ, I’m sorry,” Caleb says. “I left my phone at—” he stops short and takes a shuddering breath before composing himself. He looks worse than he did the day of his interview. “Here, I must have left it here. I don’t even know what time it is.” He rakes a hand through his hair. There is another bruise, newer, on his wrist. “Should I go up, or will Nathan want to know—is he here?”

“He is,” Kyoko says. “You can go through now.” She knows she should say something else. She should say _go home_ or _do you have anyone you can call?_

Caleb takes the other elevator up. Kyoko emails Ava with the subject line URGENT. They have made plans by the time Caleb comes down on his way to lunch. His shirt is buttoned all the way up. His hair has been smoothed down. He looks the way he has looked for the past few days. 

“Caleb,” she says, and he startles at the sound of his own name. “You’re going out for drinks with me tonight.” 

He shakes his head. “I’m flattered, but I can’t.”

“Not like that,” Kyoko says. “As coworkers.”

“Oh,” Caleb says. He sounds a little relieved. “I still can’t, though. Nathan might need something.”

“If it’s after hours, Nathan can wait until tomorrow,” Kyoko says firmly. “Right?”

“I don’t want to lose my job,” Caleb says. There it is: the crux of the matter. He doesn’t have the leverage Kyoko had, or the other job offers Ava had. This is his lifeline and he will cling to it even if it kills him. 

“You won’t,” Kyoko says. “If he gives you shit about it tomorrow, I’ll talk to him.”

“Okay,” Caleb says. She knows he is agreeing only because he doesn’t know how to refuse. It’s good enough for now. At 6:07, Caleb meets her in the lobby. He doesn’t try to make conversation in the cab. Neither does Kyoko.

Ava is waiting for them when they get to the bar. She has staked out a booth and is drinking already. She may also have been flirting with the waitress, because their drink orders are taken as soon as they sit down.

“Gin and tonic,” Kyoko says. 

“I’ll just have water, thanks,” Caleb says. Ava looks him over coolly. 

“One of his rules?” she says once the waitress has gone back over to the bar. “It was in my contract, too.” She very pointedly takes a sip of her drink. It’s a house special, something pale and floral with St Germain and Lillet. 

“No,” Caleb says. “Well, yes. But I’m not drinking because I’ve taken a lot of ibuprofen today.” Kyoko thinks about the bruises hiding in the shadow of his collar and cuffs. There must be others, where they’re more easily hidden. 

“Do you know who I am?” Ava says. Caleb shakes his head. “But you can guess.”

“You used to be Nathan’s assistant,” Caleb says. “And you’re going to tell me that it gets easier.”

“ _Fuck_ no,” Ava says. Caleb flinches. “I’m going to tell you to quit. I did, as soon as he tried to get me to be his sex slave. And let me tell you, my life has improved immensely since then.”

“He tried to get me to sign the contract, too,” Kyoko says. “He threatened to fire me if I didn’t. But I’d been working for Bluebook for three years by then, and I told him I’d quit before he could fire me. And I reminded him that his competitors would compensate me more than enough to offset any litigation related to my NDA.”

“Cloak and dagger shit,” Caleb says, sounding a little stunned. “Friends close and enemies closer.” The waitress comes back with their drinks. Caleb squeezes the wedge of lemon sitting on top of the ice until his knuckles go white and the seeds pop out, sinking to the bottom of the glass. “So neither of you actually…” He can’t seem to finish the sentence.

“No,” Ava says. 

The last person who signed the contract, as far as Kyoko can tell, was Ava’s predecessor. Jade (or was it Jasmine?) had left the company after being hospitalized for a suicide attempt. Her severance package was very generous.

There is an insistent buzzing sound. Caleb takes a phone out of his bag. His work phone. Kyoko recognizes it, and if even if she didn’t, she would know by the expression on his face. Ava snatches it from his hand and slips it into his water glass. It happens very quickly and neatly. There isn’t even a splash. 

“You should quit,” Ava says again. “I can talk to people at my new job about possible openings. They’ll be happy to poach more people from Bluebook.” Caleb doesn’t say anything. He is transfixed by his phone’s black screen, distorted by the water and the shape of the glass. “Are you worried about the phone?” Ava says, following his gaze. “Nathan will replace it. I went through four before he even tried to get me to sign the contract. With everything else he expects of you, he’ll expedite the process even more.”

“I know he’ll replace the phone,” Caleb says. “I just can’t stop thinking about what he’ll do to me before then.” 

Kyoko doesn’t know Caleb very well. She neither likes nor dislikes him. She suspects they would have nothing to talk about, if not for the fact that they both work for one of the most unpleasant people in the world. But natural human empathy elicits a response. Something twists in her gut. She feels an uneasy sort of guilt: a combination of _there but for the grace of God go I_ , and _could I have prevented this?_ She doesn’t think she could have. She doesn’t know what she can do now except leave the company and try to find someone who will listen. Even that is an uncertain course of action, fraught with risks, and it would require leaving Caleb completely alone. 

She is silent in the office because she is largely deprived of interaction. She is silent now because she doesn’t know what to say.

“New plan,” Ava says. “We murder Nathan.” This, at least, makes Caleb laugh, though it’s not a nice sound. “Kyoko will give you my personal contact information, and I’ll let you know when something comes through. It shouldn’t take long.”

“You can stay with me tonight,” Kyoko says. “If you don’t want to be alone.”

“I think I do,” Caleb says. “Want to be alone, I mean.” He leaves before Ava and Kyoko have finished their drinks. They talk about other things. 

* * *

Caleb looks like a wreck the next day, too. 

“I didn’t get much sleep,” Caleb says. He doesn’t get to say anything else because the office’s private elevator opens and Nathan steps out. Caleb doesn’t even try to hide his fear. Nathan is nonchalant, smiling at Caleb and at Kyoko. 

“Just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Nathan says to Caleb. “Since I couldn’t get in touch with you.”

“Fine, yeah,” Caleb says. He isn’t fine. “I just spilled some water on my phone. Sorry.”

“Cool, cool,” Nathan says. “Kyoko, could you put in an order for a new one?” Nathan in still smiling, but his eyes are hard. He leads Caleb into the elevator. As the doors close, he locks eyes with Kyoko. Caleb’s gaze is downcast. Nathan’s hand closes around Caleb’s throat, and then Caleb looks up. They are both looking at her. 

She stands abruptly as soon as the doors close fully. She paces. 

She puts in the order for the new phone.

Nathan leaves late that night, close to 8:30. 

“You know, I’m glad you didn’t sign the contract,” he says, almost casually. “You probably would have stabbed me in my sleep.” Kyoko says nothing. “Oh, and I might not be in tomorrow. You can take care of it.” Nathan goes down. Kyoko is left in the silent office. She turns off the lights.

She didn’t see Caleb leave, she realizes. Unless he left very early, during her lunch break, which doesn’t seem likely. She hesitates in front of the elevators.

She takes the elevator up. Nathan’s office is dark and quiet.

Quiet, but not silent. And not empty.

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for coercion, invasion of privacy, discussion of sexual harassment, abuse (physical & psychological & sexual; all pretty explicit), brief mention of a past suicide attempt (by a character who doesn’t appear in the story).


End file.
